


begin again

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, F/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: Grant and Jemma just moved in.





	begin again

Grant stops halfway up the front walk, his running shoes scraping against the rough tiles. He shoots a glance up and down the street—yellow house on the left, red trim on the right, that overgrown tree across and two houses down. Yeah, this is the right house. Only there’s a dog on the porch where there definitely wasn’t one when he left for his jog around the new neighborhood.

The dog, a shepherd mix with attentive eyes, perks up as he approaches but makes no move to attack. “Hey, buddy,” Grant says, reaching out. He gets a sniff and a lick and returns the affection with a scratch behind the ears. That big tail wags and the head tips back, giving him a view of the tags. “Guess you’re lost, huh?”

He pulls his key and heads in, bringing the dog with him. Not like he can just leave him outside and after five days of moving furniture and unpacking boxes, a few paw prints on the hardwood won’t make much difference.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls.

“Leave your shoes by the door!” comes from the kitchen and Grant’s spine relaxes instinctively.

“You hear that?” he asks the dog while he’s bent double unwrapping the brace from his knee. “That sounds like bacon.”

The tail makes another sweep, knocking into the coat-rack and that big, pink tongue lolls out. Grant chuckles and leads the way.

For the second time in five minutes his feet go still at the sight waiting ahead of him. The radio in the corner’s playing some top 40 hit and Jemma’s hips are bopping to the beat while she washes dishes, giving him a nice view of her ass peeking out from beneath his shirt. She is wearing shorts, but they’re so damn tiny if she weren’t moving he’d think the shirt’s all she had on.

He crosses the kitchen without even thinking about it, sliding his arms around her waist and—since her hair’s up and all—pressing his lips to the mark he left on her neck last night.

She hums and leans into him, all soft curves and warm skin. “Someone was up early,” she says.

He drops his hand a little lower on her stomach. “I’m sorry, did I neglect my husbandly duties?”

That blissful expression turns chiding. “You can’t possibly- _oh!_ ”

Grant laughs as the dog noses its way in between them. Jemma’s never been the type to frighten easily but with her wet hands in the air to avoid dripping and her turning in place to try to catch a glimpse of their visitor, she reminds him of a lesser woman trying to avoid a mouse.

“Guess what I found outside.”

“Hm, let me think,” she says teasingly, her voice gone low and gentle while she crouches down to look the dog in the eye. She turns the tag over once she’s gotten her hands dried on a towel. “Captain,” she reads. “And it’s got one of those barcodes for your cell phone instead of a number.”

They exchange a bemused look. Their phones are in the house. Somewhere. Neither of them has seen them since Thursday.

“Well I guess you’re stuck with us for a while, Captain.” Grant scratches above the dog’s tail and gets to watch its head tip nearly all the way back in pleasure.

Jemma laughs and goes to check the bacon. “I suppose he’ll be wanting some breakfast too,” she says, already laying an extra slice on the skillet.

“He could’ve shared mine, it’s no trouble.”

“Oh no. You need your energy, Mr. Paint The Spare Bedroom Before Dawn.”

“It was after dawn,” he mutters through a smile, coming alongside her to get a look at her face. All her attention is on the skillet. “And I only got the one wall started. So? Do you like it?”

“It’s very green.”

“It’s neutral,” he defends.

A smile tugs a her lips. He resists the urge to swoop in and kiss it into a real grin.

“That shade though,” she says, mock-concerned, “it’s very particular. Soft. _Young_.”

He steps into her side, wrapping an arm around her back. “Yeah.”

The heat on the stove clicks off and she turns into him. “You’re sure? We’re not even settled. And I start my new job Monday-”

He rests his forehead against hers. “I’m sure.”

The tension in her spine eases and her weight settles comfortably against him. She’s not totally relaxed though; her hand’s tugging at the back of his shirt. “Well then maybe we should get started. You _did_ abandon me this morning.”

He tightens his arms around her waist, lifting her up. She readily wraps her legs around him, but there’s hesitation in her eyes.

“Are you sure-?”

“My knee is _fine_. I can carry one tiny Englishwoman into the bedroom.”

She opens her mouth to protest again and, happy as he is that she’s cut off, he’s not so happy it’s by the doorbell.

She slips from his arms without hesitation and, once she’s safely on the ground, he heads back for the door. Captain is already there, attention fixed on whoever’s outside, but he’s curiously silent. Most dogs would be barking up a storm right about now.

It’s downright weird and an itch settles between Grant’s shoulder blades. “Be right there!” he calls, buying himself a few more seconds. They’re still unpacking so nothing’s where it’s supposed to be, but it makes him feel better to at least check out the peephole. Middle-aged man, dorky smile on his face.

“Uh, hi!” the man calls through the door. “I think you might have my-”

Captain barks loud enough Grant would jump if he were that kind of guy.

“-my dog.”

Grant pulls open the door and Captain immediately rushes forward for a fond reunion. The man talks half to the dog and half to Grant, greeting the one warmly and thanking the other, talking about his son and how the dog’s a gift to help him recover from a loss in the family and he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost him. Grant’s not so much paying attention to that as he is the guy’s left hand. He’s only using his right to pat at Captain, the other is held aloft, blood dripping from it onto Grant’s nice, new welcome mat.

“You okay?” Grant asks, cutting into something about the dog only having been with them a few weeks.

That warm smile comes up, fixing on Grant and that itch tightens into something more definitive. He doesn’t like this guy.

“Oh yeah.” The guy straightens, Captain still nuzzling at his good hand like he thinks he’ll find a treat there. “I was so frantic looking for him, I fell. Hey, do you mind if I wash up in your sink? I think it needs stitches but I’ve gotta get this guy home before I swing by urgent care.”

“Of course.” Jemma stands at the entrance to the hall, his shirt and her short shorts covered up by a robe. “It’s no trouble. Bathroom’s the first on the left.”

“Thanks.” The guy eases around Grant, pausing briefly next to Jemma. “I’m Phil, by the way.”

“Jemma,” she says. “And this is my husband, Grant.”

“Nice to meet you both.” So Phil says, but Grant sees the sudden tightness around his eyes. He doesn’t think Phil likes them much either.

But he does have the bleeding hand to see to, so he heads on in while Grant reluctantly closes the door.

“Wha-” Grant barely gets the syllable out before Jemma’s holding up a hand. He steps closer to her and sees Phil is paused in the hall, looking right instead of left. “Sorry about the smell,” Grant says pleasantly. “We’re in the middle of painting.”

“I can see.” Whatever that tone means, Grant doesn’t like it. But at least Phil finally heads left into the bathroom.

“What the hell?” Grant hisses.

“He’s just here to get his dog,” Jemma says.

“And how did he know where he was, huh? Neither of us called anyone yet.”

She rolls her eyes in that way he knows means she thinks he’s being ridiculous, but she doesn’t have a good answer yet. “Maybe- maybe he has one of those implants. Lots of people put those in their animals now.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s a valid explanation, Grant.”

“Maybe. But I didn’t tell you that Captain was just sitting on the porch when I came home. Like someone told him to stay there.”

“Or maybe like he wanted a little bit of shelter from the sun. It’s supposed to be in the nineties today.”

 _She’s_ ridiculous. Grant knew he should’ve put his foot down and moved them into that country house but _noooo_.

She rests a hand on his chest. “Did he have a gun?”

“I don’t-”

“Grant.”

He sighs. “No.” Or if he did it was _really_ well concealed. There’s a pretty distinctive hang to your clothes and body weight when you’re packing and Phil gave no sign he was.

Still, Grant doesn’t like strangers in his house. Or near Jemma.

Like she can read his mind, she leans into his space, letting him feel her warmth, her presence. It anchors him.

“Then for the moment we will assume he’s just an injured man here to pick up his lost dog. But if it makes you feel any better…” She shows him a kitchen knife tucked into the pocket of her robe.

Even annoyed as he is, Grant can’t help a proud grin. “That’s my girl.”

“Everything all right?” Phil’s back, his hand wrapped in toilet paper.

“Oh no.” Jemma slips away. “You can’t possibly go like that. I’ve got some medical knowledge—nothing official but _this one_ has a habit of getting himself in scrapes.”

“Jem,” Grant sighs while she drags a reluctant Phil into the living room. It’s a mess of boxes in there still, but the couch is vacant.

“Don’t deny it, sweetheart, you’re a walking disaster.”

To Phil it probably sounds like he’s a klutz, but Grant knows that’s not what Jemma means at all. “It’s why you love me, sweetheart.”

She smiles over Phil’s head. The poor guy is trying to hold his hand back, saying his insurance will cover it fine, but he doesn’t stand a chance.

A knock sounds at the door. Before Grant can do more than turn, his hackles rising once more, the door swings open and-

 _Fuck_.

There’s a distinctive weight to a person when they’re packing heat; it’s just a good thing none of Grant’s suburban neighbors know that or they’d have realized the new guy jogging around the block this morning had a .45 tucked under his sweats. Grant has it out in a heartbeat, but he’s still not fast enough to beat Melinda fucking May.

“See,” Phil says— _way_ too calmly for a civilian sitting ten feet from a standoff, “this is why I said ‘wait in the car.’”

“And _this_ ,” May says with a nod in Grant’s direction, “is why I said ‘five minutes.’”

“Jemma?” Grant asks, not willing to take his eyes off May for a second.

“I’m fine,” she says but she doesn’t sound it. There’s a tremor in her voice, one Grant doesn’t like at all.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Phil—if that’s even his name—says. “We’re just here to talk.”

“Oh yeah?” Grant asks. “That why you brought the Cavalry?”

May’s face darkens. More. Darkens _more_. Because she was already kinda giving him a death glare to begin with.

Meanwhile Jemma _eeps_ from the couch and Grant’s an idiot, okay? That’s the only excuse for turning that direction—she’s fine, just gone pale at the mention of the Cavalry—and that’s all the opening May needs to slam him into the wall.

“Grant!” Jemma shrieks.

“Stop!” Phil yells.

Captain is barking up a storm from the hall.

Grant headbutts May, throws a punch while she’s still reeling, even manages a kick. But he’s out of practice. He hasn’t been in a real fight since the one that left him flat on his back for a month. He kicks with the wrong leg.

May gets him on the ground easy. Gun in her hand. His out of reach. That’s it. He’s fucked.

Jemma. He should’ve gotten her out. He swore he’d keep her safe.

He’s sorry.

All of that he thinks in maybe a second. But the bullet never comes.

“May,” Phil says, enough weight to the word that it really gets her attention. She’s too damn cold to really react, but Grant sees her eyes widen a hair and he’s gotta see so he twists his head on the hardwood.

He smiles.

Jemma’s behind Phil on the couch, that knife hovering over his carotid artery. God, he loves her.

“Get off of my husband,” she says slowly and clearly.

May goes—at a nod from Phil.

“Give him your gun.”

Again, May waits for a sign before handing it over. Grant gets to his feet with as much grace as he can muster. Jemma notices because of course she does.

“Grant?”

“I’m fine. Just a little sore.” He gestures for May to go into the living room and take a seat on one of the armchairs. “Put the seat back.”

She grits her teeth but does it. Legs up and body cradled in the soft cushioning, she’ll have a hard time taking him by surprise.

Grant leans heavily against the doorway. “Just here to pick up his dog, huh?”

“Oh shut up,” Jemma snaps. She scoots back on the couch, knife still held between her and Phil. “What do you want?”

“Only to talk. Like I said.”

“So talk,” Grant orders. His knee is killing him, he can smell his bacon getting cold, and he didn’t even get to have morning sex because of these people. Whatever they have to say, it’d better be good.

“My name is Phil Coulson. I’m the new director of SHIELD.”

“We’re done with SHIELD,” Jemma says. “No offense.”

Coulson smiles. “None taken.” He looks to Grant, his posture easing the longer Jemma goes without stabbing him. “We heard about you. The two of you.”

A thrill of fear runs up Grant’s spine. “Our records were erased after the uprising. We’re ghosts.”

Coulson nods, allowing him that. “From the internet maybe, but human memory isn’t as easy to rewrite.” He throws a weak smile Jemma’s way. “Leo Fitz is head of my science division.”

“Oh,” Jemma says weakly. “That’s good. He’s … very intelligent.”

What she doesn’t say is that he’s _alive_ , something Grant knows she’s wondered about ever since the uprising. She and Fitz were friends back in their Academy days, worked on a few projects together before SHIELD split them up. She still talks about him sometimes.

“And your reputation precedes you,” Coulson says to Grant.

“Well as you can see I’m not exactly what I used to be. So you can take your job offer-”

“That’s not what this is about.” Coulson lifts one hand— _slowly—_ and reaches into his jacket for a business card. “We heard about you. And we wanted to help. This? What the two of you are trying to do here? It’s good. Really good.” From the wistful smile on his face, Grant almost believes he means it. “But like I said, there are still people out there who remember the both of you.” He sets the card on top of the nearest box. “If you ever need anything, we’re here for you.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” Coulson holds up his hands, all innocence. The guy’s really not Fury, is he? “We know how hard it must’ve been for the both of you after the uprising. But SHIELD’s getting back on its feet, stepping into the light again. We want former agents to know we’re still here for them, whether or not they plan on coming back.”

If it’s true, it’s good news. It’d be nice knowing it’s not just the two of them on their own anymore. Especially if they get that spare room moved into. But Grant doesn’t know these people, for all he knows this is Hydra playing games with them.

No. They’re definitely not that. Hydra would just storm the place and drag them both off in the middle of the night.

Still, something about this whole thing is nagging at him—and at Jemma too, if her frown is any indication.

“What about Captain?” she asks.

“Oh, Cap is ours,” Coulson says. The dog wanders over at the sound of his name, looking for a little reassurance after all the excitement. Coulson scratches his ears. “We lost someone recently.”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma says earnestly.

“She was with us since before the uprising and she- Well. The whole team’s taken it pretty hard, so I found this old guy. He helps.”

May makes a faint noise that Grant doesn’t try to decipher.

“We should probably get him home.” He says it to May, not to Grant, like there’s no threat holding them here at all.

But if they really are gonna leave…

Grant lets May get up and even returns her gun—after he empties the magazine. She grunts as if to say it makes no difference to her—and it probably doesn’t given her reputation—and saunters out the door past him, Captain trailing at her heels.

“I mean it,” Coulson says. “If you ever need anything.”

“We’ll call,” Jemma says. “Thank you.” There’s enough hesitation in her tone Grant knows it’s not a real agreement. The two of them will have to talk about it later, decide whether to keep that card safe or toss it. Or maybe pick up and move all over again. It’s just been that kind of morning.

Coulson hesitates just inside the door. His hand’s all healed up, no sign of injury at all; no wonder he didn’t want Jemma fussing. There’s something heavy in his eyes like worry or longing or love. But that doesn’t make any sense. They just met the guy and threatened his life.

“Jemma,” he says, nodding to her. Then to him, “Grant. Take care of her.” He squeezes Grant’s shoulder and for a second the moment is too familiar, too intimate for what it is. And then he’s gone, out the door and out of their lives.

Grant turns to Jemma.

“We’re not moving again,” she says weakly.

A rumble rolls out of him. It’s almost a laugh but not quite. Of course she knew what he was thinking.

“Now go put that leg up and I’ll bring you some ice.”

“I’m fine,” he says, but he’s already heading for the hall.

“And an omelet.”

Well if she’s offering _food_. “I’ll be in bed.”

He strips off his shirt on the way. If he asks if sex is still on the table, she’ll definitely say he needs to take it easy after that scuffle. So he won’t ask. He’s sure a little skin and a lot of charm will be enough to make her forget all about going easy on him. And if it’s not, he can always ask her to kiss it better.

 

 

* * *

 

 

May doesn’t start the car after Phil climbs in. She sits and she stares. Maybe she’s waiting for him to say something. Maybe she’s just thinking.

“Are you _sure_?” she asks after a minute goes by. It’s not like her to repeat a question, especially this late in the game.

“Yes,” Phil says, same as he did in his office when they agreed to this plan. Ward was broken, driven over the edge by Agent Palamas’ death and Garrett’s manipulations and, maybe, his time in Vault D. And Simmons? Phil’s still not clear on everything that happened to her on that planet but he knows something got into her head. She was more mad than genius after she came back.

This—putting them together, giving them each other to hang onto and false memories to overwrite their traumas—was the only thing that made any difference. Any good difference anyway.

“He loves her,” he says. “And she loves him. You had to see it.”

“I did. But that doesn’t mean they’ll make it.”

Phil wonders how much of that is about them and how much is about May. 

He sighs and looks out at the quaint little house. Big enough for two. Or more. “They’ll fight for it,” he says, thinking of that half-finished nursery. “That’s all anyone can do.”

 


End file.
